


Signs of Four

by siriuslyhiddenlawyer



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlolly, F/M, Fluff, Molly and Her Sherlock, Molly is pregnant, Poetic Justice, Pregnant Molly, Sherlock and His Molly, Sherlolly - Freeform, Very light smut, domesticated sherlock, married sherlolly, mollock, pregnant sherlolly, sherlolly fluff, sherlolly is cannon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 10:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12933603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyhiddenlawyer/pseuds/siriuslyhiddenlawyer
Summary: It's Molly's birthday, and she has a surprise for her Sherlock Holmes.





	Signs of Four

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a slice of life from a larger work that's on fanfiction.net called "Her Midnight Man" I will eventually bring it on here....Some of the characters and relationships will make more sense if you've read that one first! But otherwise, this is standalone! 
> 
> Enjoy!

            Molly stood in the lab, chewing her lip and rubbing her wedding band. She inanely wondered how many women performed their own lab tests to determine if they were pregnant or not. Not doing the pee on a stick thing but the actual lab test in a laboratory with chemicals and microscopes that was 100% accurate.

            “Holy crap,” she murmured, finding the stool and dropping onto it,

            Her new lab assistant looked at her in bewilderment, “Dr. Hooper?”

            Molly waved away the assistant’s concern with a wave of her hand. She couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t really get a grip on herself, couldn’t believe she was sitting there in her own skin. Running a hand over her lower abdomen in astonishment, she tried not to cry.

            Three years ago, she’d stood in a church filled with the people she loved the most in the world, and married Sherlock Holmes, the love of her life. Maybe somewhere in her mind, as she floated through her life as Sherlock’s wife, spending days in his company and nights in his bed, she had thought of this moment. She’d held her husband in her arms, feeling his semen trickle down the inside of her thighs, and had found herself daring to dream of a baby.

            But their life was so hectic, she hadn’t imagined it actually happening so soon.  

            And now…

            “I’m going home,” she told her assistant, making sure she had cleared everything in the lab before rushing to her office, “my mothers-in-law invited us over for dinner. I promised Sherlock I’d go home first.”

            “Celebrating your birthday?” her assistant, Jenna, had followed her in her obnoxiously happy and bubbly way that annoyed Molly endlessly.

            “Yup,” she answered, grinning to herself as she popped the “p” the way her husband always did when saying “yup” or “nope”. She put on her overcoat, grabbing her bag and the bouquet of purple tulips her husband had sent her. “I’ll see you later.”

            The entire cab ride home, she rubbed her stomach, warming her womb with her palm. She closed her eyes, imagining the life growing inside her, a little bit of her Sherlock, a little bit of Molly. She found herself grinning, imagining the little boy Sherlock had been, with those eyes, his curly hair. She hoped their children look more like Sherlock…

            She covered her mouth to choke back the sob that threatened to escape as they rounded the corner onto Baker street.

            She was pregnant.

            She was having Sherlock Holmes’ baby.

            Opening the front door, she was greeted by Mrs. Hudson’s broad smile, “Molly! Happy birthday dear!” she hugged Molly tightly, “many happy returns!”

            “Thank you,” Molly hugged the older woman back just as hard, appreciating the human contact after having spent the entire day rattling around in her skin, wishing she could tell someone already.

            “Did Sherlock send you those?” she pulled back to ask, looking at the flowers she cradled against her chest, “how thoughtful!”

            “Who knew,” Molly grinned, then heard male voices floating down from their rooms, “Client?”

            Mrs. Hudson nodded, “Greg’s up there with them, they’ve been shouting for twenty minutes straight,” she told Molly, “let me put those in a vase for you dear.”

            She walked up to find Sherlock sitting in his leather armchair, his legs crossed with his hands steepled under his chin, eyes closed. He was wearing black trousers and a white shirt with his tan housecoat, she grinned at his bare feet, his wedding band catching the light and winking at her. John sat at the table, somehow finding space among the books, newspapers, magazines, and papers to set his laptop. He looked on with a mixture of confusion and anger as Greg Lestrade stood with his hands on his hips, facing off with a man she’d never seen before.

            She’d been Mrs. Holmes long enough to be able to tell that the stranger was American, probably CIA.

            “Oh hello Molly!” Greg greeted her with a wide grin, momentarily forgetting the menace he’d been looking at the American with.

            Sherlock’s eyes opened instantly, his body language changing completely, becoming instantly alert, “Molly,” he stood up, brushing past Greg and the CIA man, coming over to where she stood. He never kissed her or showed affection towards her in front of clients, too aware that they’d use her against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist though, tucking her against his warm side, “Hello darling,” he murmured, “I’d introduce you to this gentleman but he was just leaving.”

            The CIA man sputtered, “we are not done! What about the terro—”

            “Yes we are. Office hours are over. Lights are off,” Sherlock shouted over him, pulling Molly into the apartment to leave the doorway open so they’d leave, “boring. Not interested. Good bye,” he shooed away the CIA man and Greg as well, slamming the door behind them.

            “Sherlock,” John cleared his throat, “what if…there’s a twin?” he closed the lid of the laptop, not even trying to hide his exasperation with Sherlock.  
            “It’s _never_ twins John!” Sherlock sounded exasperated with his friend, “can you go to the kitchen, please? Or go visit with Mrs. Hudson?”

            Molly could feel John’s bewilderment, “why?”

            “I’m about to kiss my wife, very thoroughly and slowly. And you _always_ complain,” Sherlock answered, looking at Molly like a predator, the elegant panther in the cello trapping his very willing victim.

            John nearly tossed his laptop aside, “right,” and he hot-footed it to the kitchen, shutting the doors behind him.

            Sherlock was purring now, slowly licking his lips as he stood in front of his wife. When he spoke, his voice dropped an octave, vibrating her core, “my Molly,” she swayed towards him, never quite believing he belonged to her now. “My extraordinary wife,” he cupped her face in his big hand, rubbing her lower lip with his thumb, “happy birthday,” he brushed his lips over her mouth, holding her head steady as he licked her lips open. She grabbed the lapels of his housecoat, moaning into his mouth, sucking his tongue and emitting an astonishing sound that came deep from his chest. A guttural sound of surprise and pleasure that seemed to travel to the very center of her, warming her, making her incredibly wet between her thighs.

            She reminded herself that John was right next door, and they had to get ready to go the dinner being given in her honor. So as much as she wanted to, dropping to her knees and taking his cock down her throat wasn’t a good idea.

            She pulled away, breathless, pressing her forehead against his, her fingers still gripping his coat and wondered if her hormones were making her so desperate for her husband, or just a normal reaction to his proximity. She grinned as he pressed his hips into hers, and she couldn’t help but think about the fact that they were holding their child between them.

            Sherlock pulled back, narrowing his eyes as they searched hers, “something’s different, what’s wrong?”

            “Nothing,” she assured him, “everything is as it should be,” she took a step away from him, raising her voice, “you can come back John!”  
            He poked his head through the door, Sherlock sitting down and surreptitiously covering his lap with the pillow of the Union Jack. “Right, I’m gonna go pick up Rosie from Harry’s, then I’ll meet you there.”

 

 

* * *

 

            They arrived to find Mycroft already there, looking bored out of his mind in the kitchen, with Mrs. Holmes bustling around. Molly was hugged and kissed by her in-laws, the house decorated with balloons and flowers in different shades of purple. Eventually Molly’s mother arrived, with John and Rosie trailing behind her. Rosie ran to the kitchen, enthusiastically hugging Mrs. Holmes and helping however she could. Molly grinned at her goddaughter, finding herself musing about what a perfect creature she’d turned into. Even Mycroft puckered up as the night wore on, wine flowing as smoothly as the conversation around her.

Only Mycroft noticed that Molly never sipped from her wine. He caught her eye and she could see realization dawn on him, his eyes widening before a broad grin brightened his face. He lifted his glass, nodding in a silent toast to her.

Mrs. Holmes brought out a gorgeous cake for her, looking so much like a bouquet of wild flowers that Molly didn’t want to cut it. She made a wish at her father-in-law’s urging, and blew out the candles with her left hand over her abdomen.

            She was shaken when Mycroft hugged her, whispering, “congratulations sister mine, I so look forward to turning my niece or nephew into a monstrous, spoiled little thing.”

            Molly laughed, embarrassed as tears stung her eyes.

She opened her presents, grinning broadly at the antique frame from her in-laws, the assortment of blouses from her mother, the first edition of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s works from Mycroft, and the phone case from John and Rosie that had a picture of Sherlock on it wearing the death frisbee (deerstalker to normal people) with the caption “Look, I’m on a case!”

            Rosie was sitting in her godfather’s lap as Molly opened her present, “that’s _so_ funny,” he told his goddaughter dryly. The girl dissolved into giggles as he tickled her ribs, Molly giggling at the phone case.

            Sherlock had bought her a simple pendant encrusted with amethyst, her birthstone, and a brand-new laptop, telling her how tired he was of using her old slow one. “Thank you darling,” she’d told him dryly.

            He laughed, walking over to Molly to hug her tightly. “Happy birthday my love,” he murmured, kissing her cheek chastely.

            Molly looked up into his eyes, not noticing Mycroft’s excitement when she whispered into his ear, “I have something to give you too,” he looked momentarily bewildered, the rest of the family leaning in as one unit to eavesdrop shamelessly, “I have a gift for you too my darling,” she breathed, “but I can’t give it to you for another nine months or so. Until then, I’m gonna keep it for you, nurture it, let it grow healthy and strong for this world.”

            Sherlock was speechless.

            Sherlock was blank.

            “What do you mean?” the world’s greatest consulting detective asked.

            “I’m pregnant,” she whispered against his cheek.

            Alarms and sirens had started going off in his mind palace, where he stood in front of Molly’s suite, astounded.

            He was catatonic.

            She was pregnant. His Molly. His wife. His best friend. She was pregnant. She was carrying their baby…their human…their creation…physical proof of their love.

            He was going to be a father.

            “Molly….” He breathed, exploding out of his mind palace to come to Molly and stare at her so intently, she actually checked his pulse.

            “Sherlock?” John came forward, looking concerned and clearly not having overheard her news, “Sherlock? You all right?”

            Mycroft laughed, an honest, joyous laugh “he’s fine, Dr. Watson, just trying to process.”

            “Process what?” John frowned, waving a hand in front of Sherlock’s unblinking eyes,

            “Father,” he finally muttered, blinking rapidly

            “What?” John frowned.

            “She’s…she’s pregnant John,” his voice had started as a whisper, growing in volume with each syllable, “my Molly is pregnant! _Pregnant_!”

            Her ears were ringing throughout the next day because she’d shouted so loudly in his joy, but she didn’t care. They spent the next day on the couch with his head on her abdomen, rubbing his cheek against her, kissing her, petting her.

            “I don’t understand how you didn’t deduce it,” she murmured, running her hand through those irresistible curls as he sat with his ear pressed against her stomach, as if he could already hear the fetus floating around in there, “I mean, it took you all of three seconds to figure out when Mary was pregnant.”

            “I think I saw the signs but I’m…” he chuckled, “I’m too close to you, you blind me with your beauty, with your love Molly, I can’t see past that.”

 

 

            Sherlock’s mood plummeted to the depths of hell, rattling around in the dungeons of his mind palace as he shrank into his coat, the collar turned up with his hands in his pocket, hunching his shoulders. His mood was vile, rubbing his wedding band with his thumb. “It’s _never_ twins John,” he practically growled resisting the urge to kick down the door to the bed and breakfast he and John had been staying at. The investigation was going all kinds of wrong, and he was starting to get cabin fever.

            “But what if this time you’re wrong,” John asked, following him, practically running to keep up because Sherlock was taking such large strides, “it’s been known to happen on rare occasions. I mean how can someone be in two places at once? There’s physical proof that the man everyone knows as Sidney Shaw was actually present in two different places, at the same.”

            “ _John!_ ” Sherlock yelled, turning around so suddenly that John walked straight into his chest, “if you insist on creating such idiotic theories, at least do me the courtesy of keeping such half-witted notions to yourself. There are enough unthought out theories floating through the universe without your input clogging up the stream of actual theories. Stop inflicting your opinions on the rest of the world, unless you can prove that you did not dream them up in a moment of madness!”

            John Watson had known Sherlock for a long time now. They had gone to hell and back together several times, had shared each other’s joys and sorrows, had gotten to the point in their friendship, and association as consulting detectives, that John knew his best friend like the back of his hand. “Alright then,” John stood his ground, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking the taller man directly in the eye, “what’s going on?”

            “Nothing’s going on except this case! Five women are missing and the only lead we have is a man who can apparently flitter from one spot to another and convince people that he was actually there!” Sherlock raged, sinking deeper into his coat but John just lifted a brow, until Sherlock finally rolled his eyes, “Molly has a doctor’s appointment today, right now. We’re having a sonogram, possibly find out if we’re having a boy or girl. I was dying to be there with her, I thought I’d be finished with this madness but here I am! Stuck in this hell hole with you.”

            “Shit,” he gripped Sherlocks arm in a show of affection, “I’m sorry, mate.”

            Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned his back on John in a huff, walking back to his room. But John knew him well enough that he followed him, sitting quietly at the desk in the corner while Sherlock sat on the ground with his eyes closed, pulling himself up from the bowels of his mind palace to the rafters where he got most of his work done. But all he saw was his pregnant wife, laying on her back in the doctor’s office, her belly exposed, jumping slightly as the cold jelly was squirted on her skin.

            “I’m sorry,” he told the Molly that brightened his mind palace like sunshine, “I can’t tell you how much I wanted to be there with you.”

            His phone rang in his pocket, making him jump slightly. He frowned when he saw it was a Facetime call from his mother-in-law, and was even more confused when he saw his mother’s faces squished against his mother-in-law’s, both waving at him, “hello dear!” one of them said while the other grinned, “hi Sherlock!”

            His mother-in-law was smiling at him, “Molly thought you’d want to see this,” she grinned, turning the camera to his Molly and he felt his stomach drop, his heart fluttering somewhere near his throat. She looked radiant with her right arm beneath her head, her breasts rounder, face softer, laying on the hospital bed with her shirt pulled up and skirt pulled down just enough to expose her gently rounded belly, her hair in a ponytail, glowing.

            “Hello darling,” she blew him a kiss, “I know how much you wanted to be here,” she told him as the technician began to prepare the wand, telling her that the jelly would be cold, to prepare herself. Molly winked at him through the camera, turning her attention to the monitor.

            Sherlock more heard than saw John come to sit behind him, watching with a huge grin on his face. Sherlock breathed easier, the tension he’d been holding in his body and relaxing as John settled next to him. He resisted the urge to lean his shoulder into his best friend, but then he got distracted by the image that began to blossom on the screen, his mother in law trying to zoom in as much as she could without getting in the way of the medical technician’s work.

            “Oh my God,” he breathed as his child’s heartbeat filled the room, a strong and steady beat that made him sway to the point that John had to steady him, keep him upright or he would’ve shrank down on the floor. Sherlock was riveted, his mercurial eyes swimming with unshed tears of astonishment and joy as the image cleared, the outline of his child becoming more clearly defined.    

            Molly gasped suddenly, sitting up on her elbows, “oh my God,” she murmured, a sob escaping her as she clapped a hand over her mouth, “oh my _God!_ ”

            “Holy shit,” John murmured reverently.

            “What?” the mothers that were with Molly were confused.

            “John,” Sherlock’s laughter echoed in the ears of everyone who heard, “it’s twins John! It’s twins!”

           

           


End file.
